Page 10 of Snowed In with her Mountain Men

CAMRYN

“And you’re absolutely sure this is okay with Jaxon?” I asked, for the umpteenth time.

The sheriff’s vehicle rolled along, carefully picking its way through the freshly-plowed streets. Oakley’s hand guided the wheel with short, practiced movements.

“Jaxon’s Jaxon,” he said. “He’s never okay with anything.”

“Maybe,” I allowed. “But from the very moment he saw me, he didn’t seem happy that I was there. And that was just for one night.”

I studied him carefully, wondering if there was a little more to Jaxon’s initial reaction. For now at least, his expression was unreadable.

“Yeah, well, you caught him at the end of a long day,” Oakley shrugged, waving me off. “He’s had a lot of those, lately. Usually, Jaxon has more patience than any of us. I’ve seen him sit for ten straight hours with a single client.”

“Ten hours?” I blinked. “What does he do?”

“He inks people.”

“Oh.”

“He’s got a dedicated chair at Second Skin, so he’s down there most nights. But he also subs at another tattoo parlor, over in Bradford. They let him crash on a couch in the back, if the weather goes south.”

Jaxon, a tattoo artist. Oakley, working as a deputy sheriff. It made sense, of course, that they’d end up with civilian jobs. It’s just that I kept going back to the intensity of that one photo, hanging in their cabin. After seeing it, I couldn’t picture them as anything else but soldiers.

“Look, the cabin’s huge and we have tons of room,” said Oakley, “so don’t say another word about it. I for one want you there, and I know Ryder’s ecstatic. We gave Jaxon a lot of shit after dropping you off at that hellhole. Tons of shit, actually.”

“Oh yeah?” I mused. “What’d he say?”

The SUV rolled on for a few seconds, before Oakley cleared his throat. “He suggested we had ulterior motives. That maybe we just wanted you to ourselves.”

A flock of butterflies took off in my stomach. Even so, I managed to chuckle.

“Well?” I pressed, mercilessly. “Did you?”

Was it a trick of the dying sunlight? Or had Oakley’s skin turned a few shades redder?

“It doesn’t matter what Jaxon thinks,” he said, ignoring the question. “You’re staying with us, until we find you a new place. Preferably one that won’t kill you by spring.”

A few minutes later we pulled up to the cabin, which was so far up a hidden driveway it could’ve received its own zip code.

The place looked even more spectacular from the outside.

A large solar array on the roof solved the mystery of what provided electricity this deep in the woods.

Somewhere off to one side, smoke drifted from a wood-fired boiler.

But what really caught my eye were the dozens upon dozens of fresh dirt mounds.

These piles were seemingly everywhere, in a broad circle around the house.

At the edge of the woods, recently-felled trees lay scattered in similar piles.

I saw what looked to be some kind of excavating machine, partially covered by a tarp.

Oakley hopped out and ran around to my side of the truck like the true gentleman he probably was. He caught me looking around, though.

“Construction,” he said, by way of explanation.

I couldn’t wrap my head around it. “No way. You’re making this place even bigger?”

He laughed as he took my hand and grabbed my meager bags. “Actually, we’re making the forest smaller.”

I squinted back at the mounds. In the back of my mind, I knew something about his explanation didn’t exactly ring true.

“C’mon, let’s get you settled in.”

Icy gusts whipped our faces as we hurried up the shoveled path. The big yellow logs on the windward side of the house stood heroically, fending off an entire mountain range of snow drifts. I couldn’t wait to get on the other side of those frosted windows, to warm myself by the fire.

A minute later I was happily inside, my coat hung up, excitedly following Oakley along. He glided up the thickly planked staircase, my bags in hand. Once again I couldn’t help but pause at the bottom, staring up at that dramatic photo, taken in some exotic, unknown jungle.

The ferocity with which the soldiers stared back at me was almost overwhelming.

“Wanna see your room?” asked Oakley, from the top of the stairs.

“Very much,” I grinned, and followed him up.

Down the hall we went, all the way to the last door at the very end. He pushed it open, revealing a spacious room with cathedral ceilings, a king-sized bed, and more of the terrible paintings that afflicted their beautiful log mansion like some horrible plague.

“This is Sarge’s room, isn’t it?” I asked.

Oakley nodded and dropped my bags.

“Did he paint all these?”

I pointed in a slow circle, to the many different wilderness scenes. Some of them were nearly identical, as if the artist were practicing a particular painting, to get it perfect.

“Yes,” replied Oakley. “Every single one of them.”

“Wow,” I said, and I meant it.

He paused to look at them, scratching his head. His expression was adorable.

“I mean, we know they’re bad. Some of them are even worse than bad. But this was his place. He was always proud of these crazy things.”

I shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t think they’re crazy at all.”

“Yeah, well you’re being generous,” he chuckled. “Anyway, Sarge was our mentor, our friend, our father in just about every way that ever really mattered. When we inherited the place, we saw these paintings as an extension of him. We didn’t see any reason to take them down.”

I felt a lump forming in my throat. I knew what it was like to lose someone, and hang on to the things they left behind. Absently, I found myself fingering the worn silver bracelet on my wrist.

“Are you sure I should stay in here?” I asked carefully. “I mean, Jaxon didn’t think it was such a good idea.”

“Jaxon’s a little stuck in the past,” Oakley sniffed. “If it were up to him, we’d still have Sarge’s hideous 1970’s furniture.” He scoffed. “Besides, Jaxon’s not in charge. None of us need his permission to do anything.”

“Still,” I countered, “I don’t want to piss him off. The couch was perfectly—”

“You’re a guest in our home,” he interrupted me, sternly. “This is your room. That’s your bed,” he pointed. “You’ve got fresh sheets and linens, even pillowcases. Ryder and I set them up this morning.”

Now it was my turn to blush, as I felt my heart swell. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone did anything for me, much less something this nice.

“You can set up your laptop right there on that desk,” he continued, “and write to your heart’s content.” He smiled amiably. “That window provides good natural light, and a great view. Maybe you’ll be inspired.”

The desk was perfect, if a little large. There was even a charging cord, already set up.

“The two of you did all this for me?”

He stepped closer, and his earthy scent washed over me. I could smell sandalwood. Spice. The leather of his belt. My mind drifted back to our kiss in the motel room, and what little we’d done there. And what more we could’ve done… if only I’d been bolder.

“Play your cards right,” Oakley grinned, “and there’s a bright yellow toothbrush in the hall bathroom for you.”

I laughed. “Yellow, huh?”

“Can’t get it confused with ours, that way.”

“I’ll bet.”

“You’re lucky we didn’t go with pink. You didn’t seem a pink kind of girl, though.”

“Oh no?” I challenged. “Why not?”

“A pink girl would never give up the beaches of Daytona to hole up in some tiny cabin high in the Rockies. All by herself, no less. And with hardly any food. Even less firewood. Not to mention—”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” I poked him in the chest. “I’m a dumbass yellow girl.”

My poke, although playful, broke yet another barrier between us. His eyes drifted from my offending finger to the rest of me. I could sense him not just looking at me now, but drinking me in.

“I’ll leave you to get settled in,” he said, finally breaking eye contact. “Unless of course, you want to make out some more.”

He was half joking, half serious. The gleam in his eye told me so.

“Maybe later,” I flirted back. “After I’ve unpacked and cleaned up.”

“Fair enough.”

He turned to leave, the heaviness of his boot falls mixing with the musical jangle of steel and leather.

“You know where the fridge is, in case you get hungry,” he added. “And don’t be shy, either. Treat this place like it’s yours, because it is.”

“For now,” I added, smiling.

Oakley looked back and winked as he closed the door behind him. “For as long as you need, Daytona.”